


Undercurrent

by Arwriter



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Whump, Drowning, Family, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Family, Young Arthur, Young Dutch, Young John Marston, hurt Arthur, young hosea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 15:56:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: The ice wouldn't hold him for long, cracks spiraling in every direction before he even took his first step, but Arthur wasn't about to let John drown. He just hopes they both manage to get out of this one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> You guys left so many amazing requests and I plan on doing as many as I can! (I have so many ideas I'm so excited so thank you!)  
> I got really excited about this prompt, as well as a couple others MoltenGhost left, because I love this trope so much. Hope you enjoy!

_ “Arthur!” _

Arthur had heard the cry, loud and panicked, ringing through the once silent forest, and he’d started running. 

“John?” he called, no longer caring if he scared away every animal in the forest. John was stubborn and proud, despite hardly being old enough to properly hold a gun, and hearing his blatant fear was sending Arthur into a blind panic. “John!” 

“Arthur, help!” 

He’d been an idiot to let John wander off by himself, the heavy snowfall nearly reaching the kid’s waist. Dutch and Hosea would  _ kill  _ him if he let something happen while he was left in charge. 

Nothing could ever go right for him, not even on a simple hunting trip. Arthur hadn’t expected to find any food, not in weather like this, but Hosea had insisted the two of them should at least try while he and Dutch looked for a place to lie low. They couldn’t risk heading into any town for a while, not after the last disaster of a store robbery they pulled the week before. 

The late winter was miserable, the wind biting his face, piercing his aching skin. He didn’t have the proper clothes for this kind of weather, and he wondered if he would even be able to fire his gun with the way his hands were going numb. 

Following John’s voice, Arthur pushed his way through the bare, low hanging branches, skidding to a stop in the open clearing he suddenly found himself in. 

John stood in the middle of it, standing eerily still, the shotgun Arthur always insisted was too big for him and a dead rabbit discarded a few paces away. 

“John?” Arthur called again, cautiously starting forward, scanning the treeline for the threat he’d missed. “What’re you--?” 

There was a dull, heart-stopping crack and Arthur froze, suddenly understanding. The unstable ground around John was littered in tiny, rapidly spreading cracks. The fool was standing on a frozen lake. 

“Jesus, dumbass,” he muttered, just loud enough for the younger boy to hear him over the distance. “The hell were you thinking?” 

“I’m sorry,” John said, breathless and shaky, dissipating Arthur’s irritation almost immediately. “I didn’t know--it just starting breaking and I--” 

“Ok.” Arthur kept his voice steady, holding up his hands. “It’s ok, you’ll be fine. Just take a step towards me, alright?” 

John swallowed, visibly trembling, and Arthur forced himself to smile gently, like he wasn’t on the verge of drowning in his own panic. 

The younger boy took a cautious step forward, eyes widening when the ice cracked beneath him, the whole lake seeming to shudder. He stayed where he was and looked to Arthur, frantic. 

“It’s fine,” Arthur assured. “Just keep going, I’m right here.” 

John shook his head, refusing to move any further, refusing to shed the tears Arthur could clearly see forming in his panicked eyes. 

“I...I can’t--” 

“Sure you can,” Arthur said. Taking a shaky breath, he risked a step forward, hesitantly putting his weight on the fragile ground, taking another tiny step. “See? Just start walking to me, I’ll meet you halfway.” 

It wasn’t the best plan, the more weight there was on the ice the more likely it was to break, but each second John stayed where he was sent Arthur further and further into his panic. 

Arthur took another small step and John nodded, finally following his lead, inching forward. The lake cracked again, louder than before, and he gasped, tensing, but Arthur just shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as terrified as he felt. He held out his hand, the distance between them still too great. “Just walk to me, John.” 

“I-I’m gonna fall! Arthur, I’m gonna--” 

“No, you’re not,” Arthur promised, taking another step. It was still too far, the breaking of the ice growing louder. “I won’t let you. I’m right here, you’re not gonna fall.”

John moved closer on wobbling legs, watching Arthur like a hawk, hands held out in front of him, cracks spreading under his boots. 

“Keep going, kid,” Arthur pushed, taking two more steps, faltering when he felt the ice shift under his weight. “You’re almost there. Don’t be scared.” 

“I ain’t scared!”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile, set at ease from the familiar defiance. “Then take another damn step.” 

John nodded, more to himself than to Arthur, and did as he was told. He took a step, then a second, then a third, Arthur moving slowly to close the remaining distance. 

They were so close, the two of them just a few feet away, the ice still miraculously holding. Arthur was close enough to hear John’ panicked breathing, and he hoped John couldn't see the way his hands were trembling. 

Arthur suddenly stopped, feeling the ice directly beneath him begin to shift, the cracks spiraling around him. John was still inching forward, coming dangerously close to the breakage. 

“Stop moving!” Arthur barked, holding up a hand. John froze, eyes flying to Arthur’s feet. “Just...just stay where you are, alright? Stay right there.” 

John sniffed, tears beginning to run down his flushed face. “Arthur--” 

“It’s ok,” Arthur said, no longer able to keep his voice strong. “It’s just, uh, it’s just a little more delicate over here.” 

John nodded, lip quivering. “It’s because you’re too heavy.” 

“Yeah, well at least I’m not as tiny as you.” 

“I ain’t--” 

The lake made a noise that sounded more like a groan than a crack, threatening to give out completely under the lingering weight, and they both fell silent. 

“Ok,” Arthur said, working to get ahold of himself. Panicking wouldn’t get John out of this. “You need to move around me. Be careful.”

John’s breathing was speeding up, fists clenched at his side, feet locked in place. Arthur tried to offer a smile, knowing any small movement could be his last. 

“Go on,” Arthur urged, struggling to keep from raising his voice. “I’ll be right here. I ain’t gonna let you fall in.” 

John hesitated, but eventually obeyed, moving to the side and away from the rapidly growing cracks, his eyes never leaving Arthur. The ground beneath his feet seemed to be breaking slower, less severely, and Arthur let himself feel a spark of hope as John moved further away, still inching to the edge of the lake. 

“You ok?” Arthur called when John stopped, his eyes still on the older boy, arms at his side to keep his balance. 

“Y-yeah,” John stammered. “It’s...it’s better over here, I think.” 

“Good,” Arthur breathed, the relief almost dizzying. “Good, just keep going, then. Careful. You can make it.” 

John shook his head, tears sliding down his jaw. “I-I can’t-I can’t go alone. Please, you need to come too.”

“Hey, I’ll be right behind you,” Arthur said. “I’m coming, you just need to go first, ok? You’ll be fine, don’t be a baby.” 

“I  _ ain’t  _ being a baby!” John argued hotly, taking another step. “And you’re more scared than I am!” 

Arthur found himself smiling, huffing a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well at least I ain’t being a brat about it. And there’s nothing wrong with being scared.” 

“There’s something wrong with falling in a damn lake.” 

Arthur smirked, heart aching when he remembered just how young the poor kid was, and how old he was trying to act. He supposed the same could be said about him. 

“Just keep moving, John.” 

John managed two steps, hesitant and wary, but the sturdier ice remained unwavering under his weight. The ground below Arthur suddenly shifted dangerously, the snapping of ice growing louder, and his breath caught in his throat, nearly throwing him off balance. 

“Arthur!” 

Arthur wasn’t looking at him, eyes glued to the cracked ground, the ice no longer able to support him, to keep him from plunging into the deadly lake so close to swallowing him up forever. 

He’d drown for sure, assuming the cold didn’t kill him first. 

“Arthur!” John called, again, terrified. “Come on, Arthur!” 

Arthur finally found the strength to raise his head, heart sinking when he saw John move to take a step towards him. 

“Stay back!” he snapped, doing everything he possibly could not to match the terror in the younger boy’s voice. It was becoming harder as the ice grew louder. “Keep going, John. Don’t look back, you’re almost there. I’ll be fine.” 

John shook his head again, blatantly refusing. John had always been a moron, but Arthur decided if he got out of this he was going to _kill_ him. “Not without you.” 

“John, I swear to god--” 

“Just--just take a step,” John said, voice small and unsteady. “Arthur, it’s breaking! I can’t go alone, please!” 

Arthur took a breath, trying to ignore the way the ground continued to move beneath him. Moving towards John might just make things worse, might just send them both crashing into the lake. 

But if he downright refused to move unless Arthur did the same, he would just end up getting them both killed. At least this way, Arthur might have a chance. He might be able to make it to solid ground and beat the hell out of John for being so goddamn difficult. 

He nodded and took a step forward, waiting to put his weight down until John did the same, their eyes locked on each other, slowly moving towards safety. 

Arthur made it almost two steps before the ice finally gave way, and he felt himself falling. 

“Arthur!” 

John’s scream was the last thing he heard before he went under, trapped in the inky darkness of the ice lake. 

It felt like he’d slammed against something solid, despite there being nothing but more water to greet his fall, the air stolen from him like a knife to his lungs, ripping through his whole body. 

Arthur had thought the wind was bad, but the cold of the lake was so sudden, and so much worse than he’d expected, his eyes flew open in shock, burning from the icy water. He let out a surprised, pained scream before he could stop himself, silently choking as the frigid lake flooded his throat, suffocating him before he had time to close his mouth again. 

He couldn’t move, his body stinging unbearably, useless, weighed down by the water like he was paralyzed. Everything hurt, and he could feel himself sinking, but he couldn’t do a thing about it, the cold rendering him immobile, keeping him prisoner. 

And then he heard it, muffled and barely audible over the rush of water and his own failing heartbeat, but there were noises above him, voices and movements, and Arthur suddenly remembered what he’d left behind on the surface. 

He wasn’t going to leave John alone. Not until he knew he was safe. He wasn’t going to let the kid watch him drown. 

Fighting against his frozen limbs, Arthur did all he could to force his legs to move, to kick upwards and propel himself to the surface. Moving was agony, and he was almost tempted to close his eyes and let himself fall away into a painless oblivion. 

He couldn’t have fallen far. He could still hear the noises, as distant as they sounded. All he needed to do was make it back to the hole he’d created and pull himself up. Arthur reached out, muscles screaming in protest, searching for the opening he’d fallen from. 

And then his fingers found solid ice, and pain was cast aside in favor of panic.

Arthur kicked harder, moving along the top of the lake, muddled brain trying to make out where he’d fallen from, heart hammering in his chest with each second he remained trapped. Where the hell was the hole?  

Oh god, oh  _ god.  _ He was going to die like this. He was going to drown, forced to watch the surface grow darker and darker as his body failed him and he sank to the bottom, the last of his strength seeping away while John’s screams faded out. 

He hoped the kid at least managed to get to shore by himself. Arthur wasn’t sure Dutch and Hosea could handle losing them both in one day. 

It felt like his skull was being crushed, his chest tight, lungs screaming for oxygen. He had to fight against his body’s need to take a breath, knowing it would just kill him faster, letting the lake weigh him down easier. 

Completely lost, Arthur resorted to banging desperately on the ice, pounding his fists against the frozen water, kicking frantically, screaming through clenched teeth. 

It was no use, he wasn’t nearly strong enough. He didn’t even make a dent, despite how easily the ice had cracked before. The water made his movements sluggish, the cold sucking away the remains of his strength. 

Suddenly there were hands above his, slamming against the frozen water, banging furiously against the ice separating them.  

It was almost impossible to make anything out, Arthur more focused on fighting against his exhaustion, keeping his legs kicking to stay afloat, but he could hear voices, and his panic only grew when he realized he recognized them. 

_ “Arthur!”  _

_ “Arthur, hang on, son! Hang on!” _

It was Dutch and Hosea, sounding just as scared as Arthur felt, and his heart lurched, panicking brain frantically trying to get to them, attacking the ice with newfound vigor.  __

Hands turned to feet, boots stomping against the frozen floor, their words too distant and muffled to hear. Arthur realized that this was worse, that as much as he didn’t want to be alone, he would give anything to keep Dutch and Hosea from watching him die. 

He thought he could see a tiny crack, the first bit of progress they had made. Of course, Arthur had managed to get stuck beneath the one part of the lake that refused to budge. It didn’t look like any of them would be able to break through in time. 

But he kept trying, kept screaming for the men above him through pursed lips, and it was all he could do to keep from opening his mouth in a real scream of terror, the full realization of what would happen dawning all at once. 

He was going to die. Not in a gunfight, not by his family’s side, but at the bottom of a lake while he watched the people he loved most disappear from view. He wouldn’t even be buried, he’d simply float to the bottom and rot away where no one would be able to find him again.

Arthur could feel his struggles dying down, his thrashing and fighting growing weaker, pointless and slow. He felt his legs gradually stop kicking, felt the water’s pull become stronger, and there was nothing he could do to keep himself afloat any longer. 

He could still hear someone screaming, the words blending into an indecipherable blur of jumbled noise, lost to the growing haze around his mind. 

He lost the fight against his dying body and opened his mouth in a soundless gasp, gagging and choking on the water that filled his lungs instead of air. The ice slipped from his fingers, and Arthur felt himself falling.

He was starting to go blissfully numb, the cold beginning to block out the pain in his chest, but his now quiet panic still wouldn’t go away. 

He didn’t want to die. Not like this. Cold and alone, left to be forgotten. 

Arthur barely realized that he had stopped thrashing, his body’s fight for air ceasing, almost like it had forgotten it needed to breathe. He could barely make out the shapes moving above him at this point, but he could hear the dull thud of something heavy slamming against the ice. 

He realized it was the end of their guns, Dutch and Hosea’s weapons making gradual progress, but Arthur knew it was too late. They wouldn’t be able to reach him from so far away.  

If they were only focused on him, it at least meant John was safe. It would hurt the people he loved, but at least his death hadn’t been for nothing. 

He was still sinking, a heavy, lethargic darkness covering him like a blanket, pushing him down, leaving him with nothing but a dull, throbbing ache. 

There was an ear-splitting crack, taking a moment to register, and the sky above him shattered like glass, falling away in pieces, the shards following him deeper into the lake. 

Arthur could see shapes moving around above him, hovering at the surface, and he tried not to imagine their horror at realizing there was nothing more they could do. He wished he could tell them it wasn’t their fault, that they’d done everything they could, but he didn’t even have the strength to move his head. 

A moment later something hit the water, a dark, blurry shape hovering above him, but Arthur couldn’t find it in him to focus on what was happening. He was falling, everything drifting away, the pain finally fading as he let his eyes fall shut. 

And then something grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward, and Arthur was suddenly pressed up against something solid, the hand on his shirt moving to wrap tightly around his back. 

But they were too late. Arthur could feel his body continue to fail, felt himself slipping away, and he hoped whoever had grabbed him wasn’t dumb enough to drown themselves in a futile attempt to save his life. 

Arthur was pressed limply against the man’s chest, the pounding of their heart the last noise fading out, Arthur barely registering that they were moving up, closer and closer to the surface. But they weren’t close enough. He was too deep. He let his mind go blank, body feeling weightless as everything fell away, dunking him in a soundless darkness. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

When Dutch finally broke the surface with a gasp, holding a worryingly still Arthur against his chest, Hosea felt his heart stop.

Arthur didn’t move when he was finally brought into the open air, and Hosea gave one final tug on the rope wrapped around Dutch’s waist to bring them both closer. He scrambled forward, mindful of the fragile edge, reaching forward to help them out of the water.  

Hosea pulled Arthur onto the ice, heart sinking when the boy didn’t react, face slack, almost as white as the surrounding snow. Dutch climbed out by himself, shivering, dropping to his knees beside Arthur. 

“Arthur!” Dutch yelled around a wet cough, like raising his voice would do something to help. Hosea ignored him, pressing his fingers against Arthur’s neck. “Oh god, oh god, no, Hosea, he’s not breathing, he’s not--” 

“Shit,” Hosea muttered, trying in vain to push down his own rising panic. Arthur’s skin was so cold it almost hurt to touch. “Shit,  _ shit!  _ Dutch, he doesn’t have a pulse,  _ move!”  _

Dutch did what he was told without question, eyes blank and glassy as he moved aside, seeing nothing but the boy he loved as a son looking too much like a corpse. 

Hosea dropped to his knees at Arthur’s side, ripping open the soaked shirt and placing his hands on top of the boy’s chest, beginning compressions without hesitation. 

“No, no, no,” he chanted, growing louder with each second Arthur remained lifeless. “No, Arthur, please no,  _ no.  _ Don’t do this to us, son, don’t you  _ dare.”  _

He moved his hands from Arthur’s chest to his face, tilting his head to the side to let water flow freely from his mouth. Hosea tried not to think about how bad it was that his lips were tinged blue, pinching Arthur’s nose closed before leaning in to breathe for him. 

It didn’t seem to do anything, but Hosea didn’t stop, pulling back to restart the desperate pounding on Arthur’s chest. The compressions would no doubt cause the boy additional pain when he woke up. 

If he woke up. 

Hosea stopped, sending two more breaths rattling down Arthur’s throat, praying it was enough, determinedly not thinking about how Arthur still wasn’t moving, and went back to compressions. 

“Oh god, Arthur.” Hosea hadn't even realized he’d started crying until his vision turned blurry, hot tears forming in his eyes. But he didn’t stop, didn’t slow, counting the compressions in his head. “God...please, Arthur, come  _ on!  _ Please,  _ please!  _ Come back, Arthur, just come back.” 

They’d been too late. He had been so close, he and Arthur less than an inch apart, pounding on the wall keeping Hosea from pulling him to safety, forced to watch the fight slowly drain from Arthur’s eyes, watch him sink from their view just as they broke through. 

Dutch was at his side and Hosea risked a glance at the other man, heart breaking at how empty and scared his eyes had become, watching the scene in horror, shaking against his dripping clothes.  

“Hosea, please,” Dutch begged, breath hitching in between words, struggling to speak around chattering teeth. “You have to...Hosea, he can’t…”

Dutch trailed off, but Hosea understood. Arthur couldn’t die. He couldn’t. But he was beginning to realize they might not have a say in the matter. 

“Please, no. Arthur, please  _ no.”  _

Hosea said nothing, blocking out Dutch's pained whispers. He wouldn’t let himself dwell on the crushing reality of what losing Arthur would mean, what a world without the boy they’d raised would be like. There wasn’t time. He was too busy trying to get Arthur’s heart to beat again, to get out as much of the river in his lungs as he could. 

He kept going, pressing down rhythmically on Arthur’s chest, harder and harder in his desperation, probably breaking at least one rib in the process, two breaths sent into his lungs, Hosea refusing to allow himself to lose hope. 

It felt like an eternity, minutes turning to hours, but Hosea knew it couldn’t possibly have been that long. He finished another set of desperate breaths, pushing down once again on an unmoving chest.

Arthur suddenly jerked under his hands, pulling in a raspy, unsteady breath, before making a horrible, gurgling noise from the back of his throat, choking on his own coughs. 

Dutch said something beside him, quiet and breathless, but Hosea didn’t give himself time to feel relieved. He was faint, lightheaded, but he thankfully had enough sense to roll Arthur on his side just as coughs turned to gags, water rushing from his mouth as he threw up onto the ice. 

There wasn’t much in his stomach other than the lake water, none of them able to find much food these past few days. 

Dutch was behind him, rubbing circles along his back, talking softly. Hosea could only watch, immensely grateful, not sure he could manage the energy to offer any comfort. 

Holy  _ shit.  _

“It’s ok,” Dutch was saying, strong hands keeping Arthur from falling face first into his own vomit. “Let it out, Arthur, you’re ok. We got you, you’re ok. You can breathe, son.” 

It took too long, Hosea’s panic threatening to resurface with each horrible cough and gag Arthur made, tears streaming down his face as he choked. 

But it eventually subsided, Arthur finally able to breathe in rattling, shaky gasps, struggling to pull in the frigid air, eyes wide and glassy. 

Dutch wrapped an arm around his chest, gently guiding him back, Arthur falling limply against him. Dutch’s other hand moved to run through Arthur’s soaked hair, still talking gently, working to bring him all the way back. 

Hosea allowed himself a moment to breathe, to try and get his head to stop spinning. He glanced over his shoulder to the other end of the lake, sighing in relief when he saw John, right where they left him, no doubt terrified, but waiting as he’d been told. 

The poor kid was probably barely keeping it together, but he was alive and safe and the least of their worries. Arthur was breathing again, but that didn’t mean they’d saved his life. 

“Hosea,” Dutch said urgently. “Jesus, he’s freezing.”  

Hosea nodded, expecting it, still struggling to push down his fear. At least he was still shivering, one of the few positives they’d been granted. But he’d still been under the ice for too long, and saving him wouldn’t be an easy process. 

He moved to crouch in front of Arthur, heart feeling heavy when it seemed to take him a moment to focus. 

“Hey,” Hosea said softly, smile weak. “You with us?” 

Arthur blinked, slow, furrowing his brow. He was a ghostly white, shivering violently, the chattering of his teeth louder than his rattling breaths. 

“J-John?” he asked, eyes going wide in alarm. His voice made Hosea ache, hoarse and cracked, struggling to get out a single word. 

“He’s fine,” Hosea promised, forcing himself to speak around the tightness of his throat. “He’s right over there, see? You saved him, Arthur. You did good. Why don’t we go get you warmed up?” 

Arthur took a moment to nod, and Hosea tried not to be impatient. He was painfully aware of how solid the ice was around this part of the water, but he didn’t want to test their luck any longer. 

“I-I don’t know i-if...if I c-can walk, Hosea, I--” 

“I ain’t asking you to,” he assured, turning to Dutch. “Let me take him. Get back to John and start a fire. Just until we figure out where to go.” 

Dutch hesitated, keeping Arthur supported from behind as Hosea wrapped one of the boy’s arms around his shoulder. 

“I can--” 

“You’re too cold, Dutch,” Hosea reminded him. “Go make sure John’s ok. And grab your coat, we’ll need something to wrap him in.” 

Dutch glanced to where he’d discarded his coat on the ice, seconds before tying the rope around his waist and plunging into the water without a second thought. He nodded, squeezed Arthur’s shoulder and carefully stood. 

“Hang in there,” he said, letting Arthur lean against Hosea’s chest. “You’ll be fine, son. I promise.” 

Arthur could barely nod, Dutch’s smile turning dismal as he started towards the edge of the lake, moving carefully, struggling to balance around his own shaking. 

“Ready?” Hosea asked, not giving Arthur a chance to respond before hooking one arm under his legs, one around his back, lifting him as he stood, working to steady himself. Slipping on the ice would just create more problems they couldn’t afford. 

Arthur groaned as they started walking, clutching Hosea like a lifeline, whimpering quietly, the shivering only seeming to grow worse. 

“You ok?” Hosea asked, knowing full well that he wasn’t. Arthur shook his head, forehead resting against the crook of Hosea’s neck. 

“I-I think I...I th-think I broke a rib.” 

“Sorry,” Hosea said, swallowing. “Sorry, that’s my fault. You weren’t breathing, I had to...I know it feels awful, but it’ll be ok soon.” 

Arthur was silent a moment, his hold tightening when Hosea forced himself to move faster. “Th-thank you.” 

Hosea pulled him closer, trying not to think about how close they’d been to losing him. “Just stay awake a little longer, alright?” 

Arthur miraculously obeyed, shivering growing impossibly worse each time the wind blew, the forest determined to rip away the fragile life in Hosea’s arms. 

His feet finally found snow instead of ice, and it took all his control not to crash to his knees right then and there, instead carefully lowering the two of them beside the fire Dutch and John had managed to spark to life. It wouldn't be much, but it would do for the time being. 

“Is Arthur ok?” John asked, quiet and small, watching as the older boy was set down in front of the flames. 

“Of course,” Dutch said, Hosea working to rid Arthur of his wet clothes, peeling soaked fabric from soaked skin. He didn’t protest, didn’t even seem to notice what was happening, and Hosea wasn’t sure that was a good thing. “We just need to keep him warm.” 

Dutch unfurled his coat once Arthur was out of his drenched clothes, Hosea tightly wrapping it around the boy as he held his shoulders, guiding him closer to the fire. He pulled off his own coat, tossing it towards the other man. 

“You too, Van der Linde,” he ordered, ignoring the way Dutch raised his eyebrows. “I don’t need both of you getting sick.” 

“I’m fine--” 

“You jumped in the damn lake, don’t be a fool.” 

It made John smile, his shoulders losing some of their tension. There were no more arguments from Dutch, the other man reluctantly doing as he was told, wrapping himself in Hosea’s dry coat. 

John suddenly shot to his feet, scrambling through the snow to Dutch and Hosea’s awaiting horses, returning seconds later with two blankets in his small arms. 

“Thank you, son,” Dutch said, taking one as Hosea covered Arthur with the other. John nodded, biting his lip as he looked to a silent Arthur. 

“I’m sorry,” the younger boy said. Arthur's eyes were only half open, staring at nothing as he lost the fight against his exhaustion, and John turned to Hosea. “I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to...I tried to--” 

“John, it’s ok,” Hosea promised. “It wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen, and Arthur’s going to be just fine. He wouldn’t want you to worry.” 

John didn’t seem convinced, still visibly shaken, but he fell silent and retreated back to his spot by the fire, Dutch watching him fondly. 

“We can’t stay here,” Hosea pointed out, still rubbing Arthur’s arms as the boy trembled against his chest. “The wind’s only making things worse.” 

Dutch nodded, looking over his shoulder to glance at the horses. “We passed by that old shed not too far from here. Looked abandoned.” 

“Didn’t look very warm.” 

“We don’t have a lot of choices,” Dutch said, pulling at the blanket around him. “It’s better than this. We can do our best to keep him warm, and if it gets...if it’s bad then we’ll risk trying to find a doctor.” 

He knew the other man was right, that even a flimsy, run-down shed was better shelter than no shelter. “Help me get him on my horse.” 

There wasn’t time to figure out where John and Arthur’s horses had gone, they could come back and look later. Arthur was put on the saddle, still leaned against Hosea’s chest, barely coherent enough to realize he was being moved. 

John rode with Dutch, arms wrapped loosely around the still shivering man’s waist as the two horses carefully trudged through the heavy snow, Hosea riding a few paces behind. 

“Keep fighting for us, Arthur,” he said, leaning in close, hoping Arthur could still hear him. “You’ll be ok. You have to be. We need you, son.” 

Arthur didn’t respond, his teeth still chattering painfully loud, and Hosea just held him tighter, gripping the reins with his free hand as he followed Dutch through the snow. 

  
  
  
  


Arthur peeled his eyes open, his whole body feeling drained and empty, breathing heavily around the pressure against his chest. It felt like there was a weight on his chest, like someone was sitting on him, crushing him, barely giving him enough room to get a proper breath in. 

It took a moment to focus, everything painfully bright and blurry, but the first thing he saw was John, sound asleep and leaned against his side, snoring softly. 

Arthur opened his mouth to tell John to go sleep in his own bed, that he was too exhausted to deal with the kid kicking him in his sleep, but all that came out was a pathetic wheeze, followed quickly by a fit of wet, hacking coughs. 

John jolted awake almost instantly, jumping back as Arthur curled in on himself, crying out against the white-hot pain shooting through his chest. 

His ribs were broken, he could tell that much. He’d dealt with it countless times before, but the violent, spasming coughs were making the pain nearly unbearable, and he couldn’t seem to stop, choking on nothing. 

There was suddenly a hand on the back of his neck, too big to be John’s, warm and steadying, a second one rubbing his back. 

It took another few moments of agony, but Arthur finally managed to pull in an unsteady breath and clear his burning throat, falling back against the surrounding blankets with one last cough, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Arthur?” It was Hosea’s voice, a warm hand suddenly resting against his forehead, and Arthur’s eyes fluttered open. “Can you hear me?” 

Arthur nodded, breathing shallow, terrified of setting off another attack, each breath still raspy and rattling in his throbbing chest. 

There was a hand over his, and Arthur carefully turned his head to see Dutch, the man crouched at his side. John was hovering behind Hosea, peering over his shoulder, watching in alarm. 

“Just keep breathing, Arthur,” Dutch said, squeezing his hand. “You’re...you’re pretty sick, but Hosea says you’ll be just fine.” 

Hosea nodded, pulling back his hand, letting Arthur lay down again. “Just rest and stay warm for us, alright?” 

Arthur frowned, head feeling fuzzy and heavy, trying to remember where the hell he was and why he felt so awful. “Wh-what--?” 

He stopped, the cold, painful fear coming back to him in a flash, the memory of the chilling darkness making him shudder. 

The others seemed to notice his recognition, the room falling deathly silent as Arthur put the pieces together. He looked to John, pain shooting down his spine as he moved, the younger boy refusing to meet his eyes. 

“You good?” he asked, talking making his throat feel like it was on fire. His entire body ached, head heavy and throbbing, and he couldn’t seem to stop shaking. 

John’s eyes snapped up in surprise, widening when he realized Arthur was addressing him. He opened his mouth to respond, closed it again, pressing his lips together as tears pooled in his eyes, running down his flushed face. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Arthur muttered as the boy furiously wiped them away. “Don’t  _ cry.  _ You ain’t the one who drowned.” 

“Nobody  _ drowned,”  _ Dutch snapped, the word seeming to hit too close to home. Arthur couldn’t even imagine how they’d managed to bring him back. “Everybody’s fine. We’re all alive, and we’re all ok. Alright?” 

Arthur nodded, suddenly remembering arms wrapping around him, dragging him to the surface. He’d been too deep for anyone to reach him without jumping in, and he found himself scanning the two men for any damage he’d inadvertently caused. 

“Are...are you two ok?” he asked quietly, hoping they’d take the hint. Hosea seemed to understand, flashing a reassuring smile. 

“Dutch has a cold--” 

“I do  _ not  _ have a cold,” Dutch argued. “I’m  _ fine.  _ Christ, we don’t have to worry the poor boy, he’s been through enough.” 

“He has a cold,” Hosea reiterated like the other man hadn’t spoken. “He’ll be ok in a few days, so you just worry about yourself. I don’t think we’ll have to get a doctor, but if you start feeling worse you  _ tell  _ us. Understand?” 

Arthur nodded, eyelids already feeling heavy, the warmth of the blankets pulling him back to the awaiting darkness. 

“I understand,” he muttered, eyes closing before he could stop himself. He heard Hosea sigh, Dutch’s hand reluctantly moving away from his. 

“Get some rest, son,” he said. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

  
  


 

“You awake?” 

Arthur turned to the voice, swallowing heavily to keep from coughing again, squinting to make anything out in the darkness, the tiny shed they’d made temporary camp in having been overtaken by the night while Arthur slept. 

John was sitting up in his bedroll, leaned up against the rickety wooden wall, waiting for an answer. 

“No.” 

“Shut up, yes you are.” 

Arthur sighed, wincing as he pressed a hand up against his aching chest, wondering just how much damage the compressions had done. He supposed it was better than the alternative. “What do you want?” 

“Hosea says you need to sleep.” 

“That’s what I’d be _ doing,” _ Arthur hissed. “If I wasn’t stuck talking to you.” 

The shed fell silent, John lowering his head to stare at the floor, pouting silently like he usually did. Arthur sighed again, glancing around the small room, noticing for the first time that it was just the two of them. 

“Where’d Dutch and Hosea go?” 

John glanced up at him, still frowning. “Went out to find us some food. Hosea says you need to eat something.” 

“I thought Dutch was sick.” 

John shrugged, resting his head on his knees. “He says he ain’t.” 

Arthur snorted, leaning back against his makeshift bed. In a few days, they’d have to deal with the repercussions of his stubbornness, ending up stuck with a miserable Dutch and an irritated Hosea. 

“Arthur?” John called, hesitant and quiet, shifting uncomfortably against his blanket. “Thank you.” 

Arthur waved him away, trying and failing to ignore the warmth spreading in his chest, briefly letting him forget about the broken bones. 

“Anytime,” he said. “Just try to be a little more careful.” 

“Sure,” John agreed. “Don’t think I’ll be going anywhere near the water for a while.” 

Arthur huffed a laugh, sucking in a breath when it pulled at his ribs, biting his lip to keep from crying out in front of John. “That makes two of us.” 

Arthur let his eyes slip shut again, still beyond exhausted, prepared to sleep for another week if they’d let him. But he could still feel John staring at him, too many words left unsaid, and he opened them again with a sigh. 

John said nothing, Arthur simply lifting his arm, cautious of his throbbing side. The younger boy perked up, watching curiously. 

“Come on,” Arthur said. “It’s freezing. We don’t need you getting sick, too.” 

John didn’t respond, only scrambled to his feet and made his way to Arthur, his blanket trailing behind him, dropping to his knees beside the bedroll.

Arthur positioned them so John was leaned against his side in a way that wouldn’t aggravate his ribs, John’s head on his shoulder, the extra blanket keeping them both warm. 

He could hear John’s breathing, no longer the quick panicked gasps he’d made on the ice, the terror leaving his eyes long ago. 

Seeing John drift off against him, calm and almost peaceful, Arthur knew that if he had died, it would have been worth it to give John a chance. In the end, he’d been more afraid of watching John drown than he’d been of running out of air. 

It was almost terrifying to fully understand how far he was willing to go for his family, but in a way, the thought was almost comforting. 

He had something worth fighting for, something to give his life meaning. And when it was over, no matter when that might be, he’d have something to die for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved this prompt, thank you so much!   
> I'm working on a few other ideas, the next story will hopefully be out soon!


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